Zen and the Art of Dragon Sword Maintenance
by Seiji
Summary: Viktor and Flik encounter an obstacle (or two) while establishing their fort in Eastern Muse.


**Zen and the Art of Dragon Sword Maintenance**  
a Suikoden I & II fic by Seiji   


* * *

  
**Disclaimer:** "Suikoden" is a trademark of Konami Co., Ltd. © 1995-1998. These characters do not belong to Seiji.  
  
**Summary:** Viktor and Flik encounter an obstacle (or two) while establishing their fort in Eastern Muse.  
  
**Author's Note:** This takes place a few months after the first game.  
  
**Warnings:** gratuitous reference to Robert M. Pirsig; inspiration from _Star Trek: The Original Series_; not a romance, but written by a Flik/Viktor fangirl   


* * *

  
No one had much use for Eastern Muse--except its residents, but no one asked them.   
  
Asking would have been a waste of time. East Musians were few, scattered, and far from Lake Dunan (around which the great political powers of the Jowston Alliance were gathered). Hunters in the mountains of Ryube, salmon fishermen in the rivers north of Toto, and obstinate farmers who didn't know when to quit--they were too occupied with living in a not-entirely-hospitable land to bother with politics. Kyaro, the only town of significance in the region, had been given to the Kingdom of Highland thirty years ago without a peep from its neighbors. They'd all been busy that day, sharpening spears and mending nets. Or perhaps they'd been cursing the local flora, much as Viktor was doing now.  
  
Viktor, hero (presumed dead) of the Toran Republic and co-leader (with another presumed-dead* Toran hero) of Muse's mercenary army, thought that he and Eastern Muse were a perfect match.  
  
"Give up already, you bastards!"  
  
Well, it would have been a perfect match if it weren't for the sentient weeds.  
  
Anabelle, the mayor of Muse, had hired them to establish a fortress in the region. If Highland decided to take advantage of the Alliance's current military skirmishes with the Toran Republic--and when did Highland not take advantage?--the broad plain of Eastern Muse would be their highway into the Alliance proper.  
  
Viktor had grown up in a fortified town. He figured he knew a thing or two about building them. He certainly knew that you didn't build a fortress where geography offered no protection. The only defensible position in Eastern Muse was its central forest, and that was where his fort was going to be.  
  
He swung his sword at another patch of ivy. Every area they cleared of trees was overtaken with weeds within a week. So every third day now, he spent the morning hacking ivy to bits. He couldn't stand the stuff. Oh, it was sentient, all right, but it was stupid. If it were smarter, it would recognize his resolve and just surrender already.  
  
Damn, but he was tired of the conniving, creeping stuff--and it rather bugged him that he hadn't been able to outthink it yet. Who would trust him to lead an army if they knew the weeds were better strategists?  
  
He would not be defeated. He'd figure something out.  
  
"If I only knew what they were _mad_ about--"  
  
"Talking to your sword again, Viktor?"  
  
Taken off-guard, Viktor spun to face his questioner. "Don't--"  
  
Mid-spin, his elbow slammed into a tree trunk, and he dropped his sword--which he was most definitely not talking to--into the underbrush.  
  
"God." He cradled his elbow and slumped to the ground. "Don't do that, Flik."  
  
"I'll tell you what I'm mad about!" the sword announced.  
  
"No one's asking you," Viktor told it. He yanked off his gloves and tried to mop the sweat from his brow with them. The thick leather wasn't up to the task. He flung them towards the sword, then looked up at his friend.  
  
The younger man stood watching him, his mouth held just so. It was the expression Viktor was coming to know as "Flik hiding his amusement from the lumbering masses." Ah well, at least the sword was good for one thing if it made his friend smile.  
  
"Is it just me or is his voice getting even more grating?" Viktor asked.  
  
"I am the Incarnation of the Night Rune. I am not a machete!"  
  
Flik's lips twitched, but he did not interrupt the Star Dragon Sword's rant.  
  
"I will not continue to be used in this way, you ham-fisted--"  
  
"It's just you." Flik stepped forward and pulled a bandanna from one of his pockets. "Here."  
  
"--dunderhead. You should never have been allowed closer to a sword--"  
  
Viktor balled the cloth up in his hand. "Do you think this will gag him?"  
  
"--than the bellows in a smithy!"  
  
"It's for your face, not your sword," Flik said.  
  
"I am not his sword," the Star Dragon Sword told Flik, its voice less strident than before. Maybe Flik was right. Maybe it was just him. Either that or... was it possible that the sword actually liked Flik? Maybe...  
  
"He is my servant--no. He was my servant. I dismiss him."  
  
"Oh, I wish," Viktor muttered.  
  
Flik shrugged a strap from his shoulder and dropped his canteen into Viktor's lap.  
  
"Water," he said. Then, he cocked his head towards the sword. "Let me."  
  
Viktor uncapped the canteen. "He's all yours."  
  
"Pardon me, Sir." Flik knelt beside the sword. "I know you don't like random people handling you--"  
  
"Humph," the sword snorted.  
  
"Swords shouldn't snort," Viktor commented. "It's disgusting. The next time I get a magic sword, you can bet it won't have a nose."  
  
Without looking back at him, Flik lifted his hand, signaling for silence.  
  
"Heh." Viktor leaned against the tree. Was that natural arrogance or had Flik rubbed elbows with aristocrats a bit too often in the early days of the Liberation Army?  
  
"As I was saying," Flik said. "You know that I respect swords. You've never seen me treat my sword, Odessa, like he treats you."  
  
"That's true..."  
  
"If you'd allow me to help you out of this mess... and let me have a few words with him--uninterrupted--I'll see to it that he stops this nonsense."  
  
"Well..."  
  
"You're not a gardening implement."  
  
"I most certainly am not!"  
  
Flik reached for the sword. "May I... escort you to your tent?"  
  
"By all means."  
  
Viktor smirked as Flik picked the sword up and took it back to the encampment. Mouthy piece of junk--if it was so smart, why didn't it realize that Flik was just telling it what it wanted to hear?  
  
He drank from the canteen. The water was still fairly cool, probably fresh from one of the nearby streams. It felt good. He'd been working so hard that even the shade hadn't kept him from overheating. He stripped off his shirt and drank again, grateful for Flik's thoughtfulness and the chance to rest--and for the quiet. Above all, he was thankful that he could no longer hear that damn sword and its endless complaints.  
  
If it liked Flik so much... Maybe he should just give the rotten thing to Flik. That would be--no, that wouldn't work. Flik was a surprisingly good swordsman, but he didn't have the arm strength for a great sword.  
  
Viktor rubbed his own arms. Even they ached a bit from the morning's exercise. He tried to imagine Flik bulked up enough to handle heavy weapons with ease, then laughed. No, that would never work. Besides, now that he thought about it, he knew there was no way that Flik would agree to part with _Odessa_. Flik was definitely one of those "one woman" men. Yeah. A one-woman, one-sword man.  
  
Viktor laughed again. He'd never be like that--never been like that, anyway. Not that he was a ladies' man. What did they say? A woman in every fort? Oh, he enjoyed them, but he was too busy for anything serious. Heck, lately he'd been too busy for anything at all. Life had made him a... a no-woman man. Yeah, that was him. A no-women, many-swords guy.  
  
Except now he just had the one sword--not by choice, though. No, indeed. Just his luck to pair up with a jealous bastard of a sword. It wasn't like he wanted to use the Star Dragon Sword for weed whacking. Even without its bad attitude, it was too heavy for the work. But let him just look at another sword, and he'd get the whole "I am the Night Rune Incarnate; what need have you for a lesser sword?" spiel. Shit, a jealous woman would be better. At least then he'd get sex out of the deal.  
  
Dumb thing. It was his fault--_its_ fault.  
  
"Now look what it's done. It's got me treating it like a person." He paused. "God, it's got me talking to myself, too. Just past thirty and batty as an old granny."  
  
"True, but your chest doesn't sag like a granny's... not yet."  
  
Viktor groaned and closed his eyes.  
  
"You keep saying things like that, Flik, and I'm going to worry that you've been around me too long."  
  
"Perhaps I have been."  
  
Viktor didn't jump up and stare hard at his friend right then, but it was a near thing. He made a mental note to congratulate himself later for his exemplary self-control.  
  
"Anyway," Flik continued. "I brought lunch."  
  
Viktor opened one eye. "Yeah?"  
  
"Kobold pie. Gengen assured me this was enough for four men, so you shouldn't be too hungry later."  
  
"I don't eat that much."  
  
"So you say."  
  
Viktor grinned, and Flik sat down beside him. They ate in silence for a while. When Flik finished his share, he licked his fingers and wiped them on the grass.  
  
"You know, whenever we have Kobold pie, I always have to remind myself that the Kobolds are not a cannibalistic race... at least as far as we know."  
  
Viktor stopped chewing. Flik laughed.  
  
"Really, Viktor, stop looking at me like that."  
  
Viktor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  
  
"It's made with mutton, I swear," Flik said and snagged his canteen back from him.  
  
"Yeah. I knew that."  
  
"Good." Flik raised the canteen and drank.  
  
Viktor watched him. He had a nice neck. Viktor wasn't in the habit of noticing his companions' necks, but seeing Flik's bare throat was unusual. Strange, though, that his only concessions to the heat were to ditch his cape and trade his usual turtleneck for a collar-less shirt. And it was strange being able to watch him swallow...  
  
"Flik..."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I..."  
  
He did not know what he wanted to say. After a moment, Flik looked over at him, then reached out and pressed his hand to Viktor's forehead. Viktor held very still.  
  
"Don't tell me you've baked your brain working in this heat."  
  
"Stew."  
  
"What?" Flik asked.  
  
"It's too humid for baking, so it's stewed."  
  
Flik frowned, but didn't move his hand.  
  
"What?" Viktor asked quietly. Flik's fingertips brushed over his left eyebrow.  
  
"No offense to Gremio and Lester and everyone, but I'm sick of stew."  
  
"Huh?" The New Liberation Army had been fed a lot of stew, but--  
  
"There were days when I told myself, 'Just one more bowl. Just one. I realize that they don't want to be wasteful, but one more bowl of Killer Bunny stew and that's it. I'm quitting this rebellion.'"  
  
Viktor blinked.  
  
"You wouldn't have left."  
  
"No, I wouldn't have." Flik took his hand away. "But not for lack of wanting to."  
  
"Ah." Viktor rubbed at his eyebrow and looked anywhere but at his friend. There were his gloves, and the last pie, and the bright blue of the crumpled-up bandanna... He grabbed the pie and tore it in half.  
  
"I wasn't asking you to eat my brain," he said.  
  
"Well, no problem, then."  
  
Viktor took a bite, then spoke around the mouthful.  
  
"I rather liked the Flying Squirrel stew, though..."  
  
"Idiot."  
  
"Yeah." He swallowed. "Uh, you want any more of this?"  
  
"No, thank you. You've got the table manners of a bear, you know."  
  
Viktor swept his arm out to indicate the whole clearing. "I don't see a table. You?"  
  
"So, who's mad, Viktor? I haven't heard any complaints."  
  
Viktor scratched his chest and thought about that one for a minute.  
  
"Ah. The ivy is. Well, it's not _mad_ angry. But it's Mad Ivy, right? And it's got to be named that for a reason. So I was thinking--"  
  
"The ivy."  
  
"Yeah, the damn weeds. So I was thinking--"  
  
"I don't think it's Mad."  
  
"Great, now he's got you doing it." Viktor grabbed his shirt and stood up. "Look, I've already got a sword to interrupt me, I don't need you as well."  
  
Flik blocked him. Viktor didn't know how he moved that fast. One moment he was sitting and the next he was standing in Viktor's way, holding his hand splayed out in front of Viktor's chest. For a pretty boy, Flik had good, strong-looking hands.  
  
"Don't storm off." The hand in front of him wavered for a split second, almost touching his chest. Viktor met the other man's gaze.  
  
"Don't," Flik said. "Storming off is my gig, anyway... Thunder Boy and all... So, don't. I'm sorry. We're not so good at this co-captain thing yet, but you may have had something there. Only... I don't think it's Mad Ivy."  
  
"Can I call you _Thunder Boy_ now?" Viktor asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"How 'bout _dunderhead_?"  
  
"I'll consider it."  
  
"It's a popular name."  
  
Flik smiled. "It's right up there with Schtolteheim Reinbach the Third."  
  
"How'd you--"  
  
"I never reveal my sources. Please, let's sit down and talk about what you were thinking."  
  
"Okay." Viktor stepped forward into Flik's spread palm, then stopped. "No. Better idea. I'm going to... clean up. Meet you back at camp."  
  
Flik nodded and left. Viktor headed towards the closest stream. He dunked his shirt in the water, wrung it out and quickly washed.  
  
Normally, Viktor wouldn't have bothered, but he figured the other man would appreciate the gesture. For all that Flik was supposed to be from a warrior culture, he had a thing for social niceties. He wouldn't say anything, but he'd be thinking something about smelly, shaggy bears--never mind that there was nothing wrong with good, honest sweat and Viktor wasn't all that shaggy. What was the point of cutting his hair before it became a nuisance? He didn't have anyone to impress.  
  
Viktor doused the shirt again and wiped the back of his neck. Felt good. Too bad there wasn't anywhere around here with water deep enough for bathing--or a swim. It would be good to use a different set of muscles for a while. There'd been too much repetitive work lately.  
  
He stretched and bent, cracked his back, and went to meet Flik at their tent. Once he'd pulled on his spare shirt, Flik began talking.  
  
"So you were thinking--"  
  
"Let's go to the mess. More private."  
  
"I don't think you can get more private than here." They had one of the smaller tents and did not share with anyone else.  
  
"The walls have ears, Flik." He nodded towards the sword. Flik had put it on Viktor's cot.  
  
"Oh, of course."  
  
Viktor followed Flik out of the tent.  
  
"I'm not sharing my bed with him," Viktor told him.  
  
Flik stumbled. "What?"  
  
"If that thing takes a liking to sleeping on beds now, I'm not sharing with it. It can get its own damn bed."  
  
"God, Viktor." Flik shook his head. "Let's not worry about that until it happens."  
  
Before they'd taken half a dozen steps, they were stopped by a group of men. The men were saying something about carts and broken axles and the general incompetence of the blacksmith in Ryube, and how if only so-and-so could return to his hometown for a fortnight, he could recruit his brother-in-law who'd actually earned his iron hammer. Viktor let Flik handle it. He didn't like bureaucrats, but he was beginning to have an appreciation for them. Piddling little details got old fast.  
  
Viktor went to the mess and sat at an empty table. Another group of men, on break from digging for the basement, was speculating on which race had the best diggers. They'd heard about the Dwarves and their impossibly deep vaults, but none had actually ever met a Dwarf. Kobolds, they knew though, and hell, weren't they just like dogs digging up your vegetable garden? Viktor hoped that Gengen wasn't within hearing range. He didn't see him anywhere, but Kobolds had keen ears.  
  
Viktor was about to tell them to shut up--and that Kobolds wielding Dwarven shovels were the best diggers--when a round-faced young man brought him a tankard.  
  
"Here, Sir."  
  
"Thanks..." The kid had auburn hair, which was somewhat common in central Muse, but not around here. "Pohl, is it?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. Pohl, Sir." He bobbed his head.  
  
"Thank you, Pohl, and one _sir_ is more than enough."  
  
"Yes, Sir. Uh... Gengen's gone for supplies in Ryube, so..." He didn't say any more, but glanced over at the group of men.  
  
"Thanks. I was--"  
  
"Hey, Pohl, how are you doing?" Flik joined them and smiled at the young man whose ears turned red at the attention.  
  
"I'm good, Sir. Thank you. I'll get you a beer." He hurried off.  
  
"I'll be damned," Viktor said.  
  
"Probably." Flik sat down. "What for this time?"  
  
"You made that boy blush."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
Pohl brought Flik's beer, and Viktor made a show of watching him carefully.  
  
"Whatever you're thinking, you can just stop it," Flik told him as soon as Pohl had left again.  
  
"He seems like a good kid. Smarter than he looks."  
  
"Unlike some..." Flik stopped.  
  
"Yes, Flik?" Viktor smiled widely, baring his teeth.  
  
Flik smiled back at him. It was one of those genuinely happy, but dangerous smiles. The sort you gave a strong opponent when you were really enjoying the combat and knew you were going to enjoy his defeat even more. Viktor suddenly wanted to try sparring with Flik sometime.  
  
"Never mind," Flik said. "It was too easy of an insult. Really, it would have been beneath me."  
  
Viktor saluted him with his cup. "Ever the gentleman, Flik. Ever the gentleman."  
  
"I do try." After taking a drink, Flik settled down to business. "So, what were you thinking about the ivy? It's obvious that we're going to have to try a different tack with it."  
  
"It's just... well, this is going to sound stupid, and I know it, so just save your cracks for later."  
  
Flik nodded.  
  
"Well, if they call it Mad Ivy, they must call it _mad_ for a reason, right? So maybe instead of killing it, there's a way to appease it. Hell, I don't want to destroy it completely if we don't have to. It'd be great to have that stuff attacking anyone trying to sneak up on us. So..." Viktor smacked the tabletop. "Damn, I hate having to reason with weeds, though."  
  
"It is easier to reason with your sword, isn't it?"  
  
"Reason with him? Impossible. We get this fort up and I'm going to find Mace and get him turned into a pair of talking pruning shears."  
  
"I doubt even Master Mace could tame that sword of yours."  
  
"Won't hurt to try."  
  
"Anyhow, I didn't mean _your_ sword. I meant weapons in general--that it's easier to fight some people than reason with them. But, I think you've got the right idea, only you're no horticulturist--"  
  
"I'm a what?"  
  
"It can't be Mad Ivy," Flik said.  
  
"Sure it can, looks just like the stuff. We fought enough of it near Scarleticia."  
  
"That's my point. Remember, it's a lot warmer down there and the soil was much sandier. Plants specialize to different environments."  
  
"Still looks the same."  
  
"But it doesn't act the same--not at all. Mad Ivy was a lot more aggressive."  
  
"And taking over my forest isn't aggressive?"  
  
"Your forest, Viktor?"  
  
Viktor shrugged. "You know what I mean."  
  
"Mad Ivy was actively aggressive. It attacked us like it was looking for a fight. This stuff, whatever it is… it's… passive aggressive."  
  
Viktor grabbed Flik's cup, causing some of the beer to slosh over the sides.  
  
"What's in this stuff?" He peered into it. "No one sober psychobabbles weeds."  
  
Flik grabbed Viktor's forearm. He freed the cup from Viktor's grasp and set it down, without letting go of Viktor's arm.  
  
"I didn't laugh when you wanted to reason with it," Flik said, twisting Viktor's arm slightly. "And let's face it, that doesn't sound too sober either."  
  
Flik's thumb rubbed over the mark of the rune on the back of Viktor's hand. Viktor started to draw his hand away, only to have Flik's grip tighten.  
  
"You going to let go of me?" Viktor asked.  
  
"Eventually." Flik traced the mark again, his brow folding in a thoughtful frown. After a moment, he looked up.  
  
"Now listen. I'm not insulting you. You started looking at the problem from an angle we've been ignoring and that's good. I think you're on to something. We can't treat it like Mad Ivy, because that's what we've been doing--and it's become obvious that we can't just chop it to bits and move on. But, if we knew what type of ivy it was, we may find our answer there."  
  
"So, how long have you known that I've been wasting my time?"  
  
Flik dropped Viktor's hand. Since Viktor hadn't been expecting that, his arm hit the table with a thump and knocked over his own beer.  
  
"Crap!" He stood before he ended up with a wet lap.  
  
"I wouldn't waste our men's time like that. I take leadership seriously, even--"  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm not--" Viktor looked around. Didn't Flik have another bandanna or something?  
  
"Even if I'd love to have a good laugh at the expense of my co-captain."  
  
Pohl appeared at Viktor's side with a towel and another beer. "Oh, Sir, let me."  
  
Viktor watched, bemused, as Pohl pushed him back into his seat and quickly took care of the spill. What an efficient little guy--that must be why Anabelle had sent him as an aide.  
  
Once everything was cleaned up and Pohl gone again, Viktor turned to Flik. Flik's expression was impassive, as if a whole comedy of errors hadn't just taken place before him. Viktor shoved his hand through his hair and grinned. He was certain that, on the inside, Flik was rolling on the ground with laughter.  
  
"I deserved that," Viktor told him.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So what do we do?"  
  
"We find out exactly what that ivy is."  
  
"I have tried that," Viktor said. "Tried weeks ago. Asked all the locals. No one knows what it is. 'It's just ivy,' they say. 'We leave it alone.'"  
  
"Zen."  
  
"Yeah, 'letting it be' is probably the most spiritual-like solution, but it's not an option."  
  
"No, _Zen_," Flik said.  
  
Viktor scratched his head. What Zen? Oh, wait, that guy from Qlon...  
  
"What was McDohl thinking recruiting him, anyhow? Did the castle need flowers that badly?"  
  
"You never know when someone's knowledge is going to be necessary. Like now, for instance."  
  
"Most likely he's back at the temple," Viktor said.  
  
"True. That is a bit far just to ask him some questions." Flik drummed his fingers on the table.  
  
"I miss Viki, you know?" Viktor said. "She wasn't much of a conversationalist, but that teleportation spell of hers sure was handy... She was kind of cute, too."  
  
"General Millich."  
  
Viktor coughed. "Millich? Sorry, not my type."  
  
"I wasn't saying he was cute. Could you try to stay serious for five minutes, here? Think about it. What was Millich always doing when we weren't in battle?"  
  
"Changing his clothes?"  
  
Flik pinched the bridge of his nose. "Other than that."  
  
"Poncing about? Soaking in the ladies' side of the baths?"  
  
"Okay, okay. You're right." Flik shook his head ruefully. "But when he wasn't doing all of that, he was talking to Zen about flowers and gardening. There's a good chance he knows what to do with this ivy."  
  
"Gregminster's still pretty far," Viktor said.  
  
"I don't see how else you're going to get rid of the ivy, short of burning the forest down."  
  
"You're pretty good with magic, Flik. Couldn't you just try a controlled Fire Arrows spell?"  
  
"Fire magic isn't that easily controlled. Besides--" Flik tapped the back of his right hand. "--I've got Thunder, not Fire."  
  
"So, Gregminster, huh? I suppose you want to--"  
  
"I want you to go, Viktor."  
  
"What? I can't leave."  
  
"The nearest Rune Master is in Muse City, but I know you won't go that far out of the way for personal--"  
  
"Rune Master? What does that have to do with Millich and the ivy?"  
  
"Nothing. But I think you need to get that Fury Rune removed. If you won't go to Muse, then you can get it done in Gregminster after talking to the General."  
  
"Aww, Flik." Viktor batted his lashes. "And here I thought you were holding my hand to flirt with me."  
  
"You sure General Millich's not your type?"  
  
"Oh, not funny."  
  
Flik smiled at him--another of his dangerous, battle-smiles. Viktor looked down at the mark of the Fury Rune on his hand.  
  
"I don't know what you're thinking," Viktor said. "But there isn't any problem with this--it doesn't have any effect when I'm not fighting."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"Well, no matter. I can't leave here now, can I? Someone's got to supervise the men."  
  
"Indeed. Perhaps your co-leader could do it. Did you ever consider that?" Flik's voice was cold.  
  
"Shit. Flik, I didn't--I didn't mean it like that."  
  
A large, laughing group of men entered the mess. Flik stood up.  
  
"Fine. I'll go to Gregminster. I'll leave in the morning."  
  
"No, Flik, let me--"  
  
Flik left.  
  
"Damn."  
  
See, this was why he was a mercenary. He was a man of action, not words. He did his talking with his sword--  
  
Hearing the double meaning in his own thoughts, he swore again.  
  
"Damn!" Maybe that was why fate had stuck him with a talking sword.  
  
Viktor shoved his chair back from the table and stood. He wanted to explain that it hadn't occurred to him that Flik wouldn't want to go to Gregminster. He'd meant only that both of them couldn't leave right now. One of them had to stay behind.  
  
He wanted to follow after Flik, but there was plenty of work to do and men to supervise--and, hell, if he went after Flik now, he'd probably end up talking to the pointy end of _Odessa_. It was best to just get on with the day.  
  
Viktor left in search of one of his lieutenants. Time to see how the newest recruits were doing.  
  


+=+=+ 

  
When Viktor got back to the tent that evening, Flik wasn't there. He spent a moment wondering if Flik was rash enough to have left already. He wasn't sure, but Flik had grown up a lot over the last half of the war, and Viktor trusted him.  
  
"Only my mouth runs away with me sometimes, and I forget that I trust him."  
  
"Talking to one's self is the practice of imbeciles and doddering, old--"  
  
"Oh, shut up," Viktor told the Star Dragon Sword. "And get off my bed."  
  
"That is no way to talk to me. Why I--"  
  
Viktor grabbed the sword and stuck it in the chest with his spare bits of armor. He tossed a blanket in after it, then shut the chest, sat on it, and began to remove his boots. The sword yelled for a while, but the blanket muffled the sound well.  
  
He tugged off his second boot and sat holding it. He trusted Flik, but he didn't know why the younger man had agreed to leave Toran with him in the first place. Did he miss it? Did he want to go back--for more than just an errand? Should Viktor try to stop him if he did?  
  
Viktor shook his head. No sense sitting here asking questions only Flik knew the answer to. His friend felt things deeply, and kept those feelings hidden equally deeply. If only--  
  
"It's a leather boot, Viktor, not a crystal. You're not going to find any answers by gazing into it."  
  
"Flik!" Viktor dropped the boot and looked up at him. "How is it you're always catching me unawares?"  
  
Flik quirked his head. "I don't know. How is it you're always so unaware?"  
  
"Thumped on the head one too many times?"  
  
Flik chuckled and turned to his bed. "That, I can believe."  
  
"Look, earlier, I thought--"  
  
"Don't worry about it," Flik said.  
  
"No. I want you to know, I just didn't think that you might not go. It's your home and all."  
  
"Gregminster's not my home."  
  
Flik began to undress. Viktor watched the neat little piles form--scabbard and belt; gloves, jacket, and bandanna; leg guards and boots... When would he see this ritual again?  
  
"You going to take the overland route? Tinto and South Window's monitoring all ship traffic to the Republic."  
  
"I'd have to take too many men that way. Besides--" Flik rubbed at the scar low on his belly. "I don't want to go back that way any time soon."  
  
"It's not that bad--"  
  
"Speak for yourself," Flik said.  
  
"You should try it sometime without a fresh gut wound. Great exercise. Those monsters are worth fighting, not like around here. It's hard to stay in shape when all you're fighting is rabbits and ivy."  
  
"Don't forget the big mutant woodpeckers."  
  
"Oh, no, wouldn't forget them." Viktor rolled his eyes. "So you're going to try a ship?"   
  
Flik put his things away--except for _Odessa_, which went to its usual spot on the far side of his bed--and sat down.  
  
"I'm only taking one of the men with me. It'll be no problem to convince the captain of one of South Window's supply ships to let us on board."  
  
"Just one? I was going to suggest that you take Pohl."  
  
"What? And have you all starve to death before we get back?" Flik asked.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"That's why you need a co-captain, Viktor. You don't even know that Pohl's the only one keeping your cook from having fits and either quitting or poisoning you all."  
  
"I thought the eggs have been tasting funny lately."  
  
One of Flik's boots came sailing at his head. Viktor ducked and laughed.  
  
"Sorry, sorry." Viktor got up and returned the boot to its spot under Flik's bed. Still kneeling, he looked up at Flik.  
  
"Uh... look, I--" Viktor stopped, then tried again. "Thank you, okay? I wouldn't want to be doing this without you. I mean, I would do it. I promised to. But it wouldn't be the same. It's--"  
  
Flik brushed some of the hair back from Viktor's face. "You should get some sleep, you old bear."  
  
"Just... I appreciate it. But I'll understand if you want to stay in Toran and send Millich's answer back with--wait, who are you taking?"  
  
"Thom."  
  
"Oh, he's a good--"  
  
"Let me get this straight. You think I want to stay in Toran, send Thom back as a messenger, and let you ruin my army?"  
  
"Yes--no. Your army?"  
  
"Yes. Now stop worrying about it and get some sleep," Flik said.  
  
"Well..."  
  
"Hand me that boot, will you?"  
  
Viktor laughed and got up. "I'm going, I'm going."  
  
He quickly stripped down to his shorts and climbed into bed. He punched the pillow a few times, then closed his eyes.  
  
"Seven more ivy-chopping mornings and I'll be back," Flik said.  
  
"Oh?" Viktor did the math. "Three weeks is good time."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Viktor rolled onto his back and tried to relax. Flik would be leaving early; it wouldn't do to keep him awake with more conversation.  
  
He was almost asleep when Flik spoke again.  
  
"What is that noise?"  
  
"Huh?" Viktor listened for a moment. "Oh, that's the Star Dragon Sword. Want me to throw another blanket in to muffle him?"  
  
"No, that's okay." The sheets rustled, then Flik spoke softly. "Thank you, Odessa, for being a normal sword."  
  
Viktor smiled in the dark.  
  


+=+=+ 

  
By the time Flik returned from Gregminster, the fort had a basement, two floors, and most of its walls. Viktor had planned to have some of the roof done, but Flik arrived earlier than expected. It was fitting, actually, that he returned while Viktor and the Star Dragon Sword were once again battling weeds and bickering.  
  
"Clumsy oaf! Who taught you to swing a sword?"  
  
"My father did, and if you'd stop distracting--"  
  
"And what was he? A bricklayer? A swineherd?" the Star Dragon Sword asked.  
  
"If you don't shut up, I'll whack you into a tree again--a really hard tree--and then I'll--"  
  
"Oh ho! And you claimed it was an accident!"  
  
"Pardon me for interrupting this private moment," Flik said.  
  
Viktor spun around. "Flik!"  
  
"Oh, good, that one's back," the sword said. "Now let me talk to him."  
  
"He's my friend. I'll talk to him first," Viktor told it.  
  
Flik smiled. He put down the small cage he was carrying, stepped toward Viktor, and took the sword. "Nothing changes, does it?"  
  
"He's impossible without you," Viktor and the Star Dragon Sword said at the same time.  
  
Flik bent over laughing while Viktor jumped away from the two of them.  
  
"That's it!" Viktor said. "That thing has got to go."   
  
"Thing? Thing! I'll have you know--" The sword sneezed. "What the--" It sneezed again.  
  
Flik and Viktor both stared at it.  
  
"Swords shouldn't sneeze," Flik commented. "It's disgusting. The next time you get a magic sword, couldn't you get one without a nose?"  
  
Flik tried to hand the sword back to Viktor, but Viktor refused to touch it. Flik set it down on the grass and wiped his hand on his pants. The sword sneezed twice more.  
  
"How can it sneeze?" Viktor asked. "It shouldn't be able to--"  
  
"Why don't you ask what's making me sneeze? Or perhaps, 'What are those dust balls in that cage?'"  
  
Viktor looked at the cage. It was gold filigree with large red-enamel roses and some sort of cut stones around the top.  
  
"Oh, nice cage, Flik. Goes so well with your cape."  
  
"It's Millich's."  
  
"No doubt." Viktor leaned closer to it. "Are those rubies?"  
  
"Garnets, I think."  
  
"Not the cage, you moron," the Star Dragon Sword snapped. "Ask what's inside the cage!"  
  
The cage looked like it was full of dirt-brown fur.  
  
"Is it possible your sword's allergic to them?" Flik asked.  
  
"'Them'?"  
  
Flik lifted the door of the cage, and four little fur mops shot out and zoomed off into the forest.  
  
"Those were Millich's answer."  
  
"I knew he wasn't right in the head."  
  
"I don't know... Millich is apparently a very spiritual man," Flik said, and picked up the cage. "Do you think we can sell this?"  
  
"It ought to be worth something. It's gold, isn't it?"  
  
"Maybe we'll find a blind merchant... Well, anyhow, grab your sword and let's get lunch."  
  
"I'm not finished yet." Viktor indicated the patch of ivy he'd been working on.  
  
"Viktor." Flik rattled the cage. "I've carried this thing for a week on a ship with big, burly sailors. Big, _manly_, burly sailors. Will you just trust me on this?"  
  
"'Course I trust you, Flik." Viktor held the Star Dragon Sword out to him. "Trade ya."  
  
They went back to the camp, and--after hiding the cage under an old horse blanket in the corner of their tent--had lunch. Flik told him about the trip and what their friends in Gregminster thought about the Tinto and South Window armies. After he'd had seconds, and Viktor was working on his fifth helping, he explained about the FurFurs--for the fur mops were indeed FurFurs.  
  
"As I said, Millich is a very spiritual man. Apparently, he's very in tune with nature."  
  
"The man owns see-through purple body suits. There's nothing natural about that."  
  
Flik waved his hand vaguely. "Ah, but the body is natural, _mon ami_."  
  
"I am never letting you talk to Millich again," Viktor said.  
  
"Thank you." Flik took a drink of his beer. "Anyway, he said we needed to stop working against nature and start working 'with her.' FurFurs are 'Nature's little ivy-eaters.'"  
  
"Is that right? Huh. Guess they can't hurt."  
  
"He also told me that it takes seventy-eight of them to make a coat."  
  
Viktor wrinkled his nose. "I think I'd sneeze at that, too."  
  
"I bet. Well, he only gave us four. We're safe, and your sword's delicate nose is safe, too."  
  
Viktor snorted.  
  
"Delicate? Hey, as soon as we get this fort up, let's find Mace and get him turned into a talking filigree FurFur cage."  
  
Flik lifted his cup and drank to that.  
  


+=+ Epilogue +=+ 

  
(Three years later)  
  
They were halfway to Ryube Village when Riou called for a break. He and Tuta sat down on a large rock while Gengen paced around them, eager to get this baby-sitting job done.  
  
"Gee, Gengen," Riou said. "What are those things? They're everywhere."  
  
"Why? Are you tired? They're not difficult to fight--not for a fine Kobold warrior like me."  
  
"No, they're not much harder to kill than mosquitoes. Just... there's so many. What are they?"  
  
"They're FurFur. Perfectly harmless," Gengen said.  
  
Tuta picked up a stone and threw it at another of the little furry mops. It chittered and scurried off.  
  
"Harmless?" Riou asked. "They sure are feisty. I bet a pack of them could hurt a small child."  
  
Tuta picked up a few more stones and stuck them in his pocket. "They're not so bad. I've gotten really good aim because of them. And Dr. Huan's let me take the road alone since I was nine... There's less of them up north, though. I wonder why?"   
  
Riou shrugged and picked up his tonfa. They started on the path again, stopping to fight FurFurs only six more times before reaching the village.  
  


+=+=+ 

  
Note:  
*This presumption was entirely Viktor's fault. Compounding his untreated allergies to carrier pigeons and his boycott of Ninja Express--ninjas, he thought, should not be glorified postal workers--was the simple fact that he just wasn't much of a letter-writer. 


End file.
